Return of the Joker, Slade Remix
by Chaogirl
Summary: This is a "what if" story. What if Slade Wilson had rescued Tim in Return of the Joker, not Batman, and a week sooner then as occurs in the movie. More may come, if anyone shows interest in reading more.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: these are not my characters, DC or Warner or someone besides me owns everything.

This is a "what if" story. What if Slade had found Robin in Return of the Joker, not Batman? I've had a couple of ideas bouncing around in my head for awhile now. This is the one that stuck.

……………………………..

Very few people have his number. And of those who do, very few call. Slade was abruptly interrupted from delicate mechanical work when the phone started to vibrate.

He recognized the number.

"Greyson" he says, identifying his caller without any greeting.

"Slade" the voice on the other end said. Slade always remembers the voice as it was, it is a small surprise every time he hears a man's voice when he was expecting a boys. "I need your help"

"I'm listening" Slade replies. There was a time when he would have moved heaven and earth for this boy. That was years ago, now he will make no promises.

"Robin has been taken" Slade always thought of the kid as the _other _Robin. Dick could change costumes; he would always be a little bird to Slade.

"And you want my help?" he asks, silence on the other is all the confirmation he needs, "what's in this for me?"

"If you can find him" Nightwing begins, there is a choke in his voice that he had been trying to hide, "Anything"

Anything. Some big promises for the kid.

……

Finding Robin, the _other_ Robin, was harder then Slade had anticipated. Normally one needs help, facilities, tools, to keep a Robin. Slade has experience in these matters. It should have been merely an issue of finding the suppliers, find the kidnapper. If someone had him, they were either fully prepared professionals, or they were improvising. Personally Slade is pretty sure that if someone had him, he would have found them. Disposing of Robin's body would have been considerably easier then hiding a live Robin for this long. He never followed the other Robin's career, but he knows Batman would not have let him on the street unless he was reasonably talented at all the basic escape arts.

He takes a step back from the puzzle and focuses on the boy. He was different then the first Robin. He brought more joy and wonder to the name then Dick ever had, he also brought a quality of darkness that Dick had never known. Dick had lost his parents tragically, but he had never known cold or hunger like this kid had, Dick had never had the lean years.

Focusing on the boy, Slade studies files on the kids past capers. Looking for reasons the boy might leave the Batfamily, places he might turn to. The kid really had no one but them. Still, he runs all the possible cross checks for persons matching his general description at points of travel. The kid was well trained in how to blend in. After several hours Slade exhausted all his possibilities and resources in that area. If the kid bailed, he went on foot and he packed light. Unlikely, not impossible, files show a record of petty sordid crime before he was taken in by Batman. This is a kid who could survive on the streets of any city with nothing but the clothes on his back. But he couldn't hide in Gotham and he left no record of traveling elsewhere.

Frustrated, Slade heads to Gotham, incognito, he's sure that there is some clue that the Batfamily over looked.

………….

He figures it out by chance; he should call it in to Dick. He doesn't. He knows who he's dealing with, Batman would only botch this up, just like he always does when dealing with the Joker. He stalks up the hill to Arkham on silent feet. His instincts confirm what he had suspected. He's not alone here.

There had been a robbery of a local hardware store. Batman did not investigate it, he was occupied. Surveillance videos show masked men swiping specific items from a shopping list. The only thing significant about the robbery was its geographic proximity to Arkham. It was a hunch at best, he listens to his instincts.

The goons left to guard die silently; the hyenas only slightly less so. The blonde isn't there, it's only him and the Clown, and the boy; the boy watches through wide eyes, silent. Dick would yell and scream at Slade and the Joker; Dick would struggle against his restraints and would fight to be free. Dick was never here for two weeks.

The Joker isn't laughing. All he says before he can't say anything at all is "You're not Batman", Slade is pretty sure he killed the punch line just by showing up. Not according to the boy though, the Joker's last line elicits a small laughter. Well it starts out like a small laughter, pretty soon it's a roaring thunderous laugh, frightening in its intensity. He was prepared for this as well; he administers the antidote he had packed for just this occasion. It was based off his knowledge of previous Joker toxins, it might not have worked on this formula, but it does. When the boy quiets down, he remains alert. When Slade removes the restraints he just lies there. "Get up" he tells the boy harshly, and he gets up, and he collapses. When Slade puts his hands on him, to help him, the boy jerks, but says nothing. "Are you injured?" The kid only shakes his head no. Slade wonders if the Joker damaged his tongue in anyway.

The kid is worse then Slade had ever seen a Robin before. He's pale and sallow, his breathing is shallow and he may be in some degree of shock. Slade knows its taboo to remove their masks, but he needs to see the boy's pupils to know how bad it is. When he grasps the edges of the mask, the boy's hands raise feebly without strength to defend himself. When the mask is gone, Robin shuts his eyes tightly as though to protect himself. "Robin" Slade says to get the boy to look at him, "Tim" it's a command, the boy slowly opens them. They would have been a breathtaking blue under other circumstances. One pupil had dilated more then another, if that's from brain damage or chemicals, Slade can not be certain. The kid tries to say something but his voice box doesn't seem to work right, his eyes roll a little and he can't seem to focus them well on any object, he licks lips, which are oddly flushed red, at contrast with his pale complexion and tries again. "You're not Batman" he finally croaks, and then he laughs again, but it's a dry and rasping laugh that never quite gets started before it ends. His limbs don't move right, but he arranges them in the position to stand, then with great effort he is vertical.

"Now what?" his voice is harsh whisper, the quality of his voice alone tells Slade the story about the screaming that must have echoed through this room.

"Now we leave" Slade directs him to the door. He will come back later to hide the bodies, torch the building.

As they move towards the door a car pulls up. Slade quickly hides in the shadows, pulling the boy roughly with him. The blonde steps through the door, and shouts "Pudding! I'm home" in her sugary sing song voice. Slade's knife is ready, and he's going to pounce when the boys hand on his own stops him. He's not reaching for Slade, but for Slade's knife. Slade looks deep into his blue eyes; they are focusing now, focusing on her, focusing on the knife. Interesting. Slade lets him take it. Robin's limbs still don't move right, he wouldn't have been able to take her at all if surprise wasn't on his side. She's not prepared for Robins who bite and stab. Slade steps in after only a moment, he finishes her. Robin doesn't say anything, he cleans the blood off the knife as best he can on the coat she was wearing, and hands it back, hilt first. The kid had been fantasizing about her death, Slade sees that now, he wonder's if it lived up to the kids expectations.

"Now we leave" Slade says again. Slade left his car almost a mile away, the kid can't walk that far now. They take hers instead. Ditch it, take another.

"Robin" he says to the kid in the passenger seat.

"I'm not sure that I'm Robin anymore"

"Then who are you?"

"I guess Tim, for now" the harsh rasp of his voice can't hide the emotion that's overwhelming him. But the kid doesn't cry.

"I'm going to call Dick now" Slade tells him, as he fishes out his phone, eyes on the road.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather you didn't" the words are flat and dry, the meaning behind them isn't.

"He's worried about you, he deserves to know you're OK, and you can't stay with me"

"The kid he's looking for wouldn't have killed her"

"You didn't kill her, I did"

"Not for lack of trying"

Dick answers on the second ring.

"I have him" Slade says. The words of joy that come from the other end run together until he can't make sense of them.

When Dick finally calms down they agree to meet in 20 minutes at an intersection close to Slade's current location. Slade hasn't even ended the phone call when the kid opens the door and rolls out.

"Shit" he shouts as he slams on the breaks, dodging the other traffic to pull over. When he's finally out of the car and after him, the kid had a good start. He was weak; he shouldn't have been able to pull a maneuver like this. Slade is mildly impressed, and more pissed off. He can hear Dick backing of their deal now, payment on delivery only.

When he finally catches up to the kid, they are a surprising distance from the car. The kid is running on pure adrenaline, but his body couldn't take any more. When he knew the chase was doomed, he hid behind a dumpster in a last ditch effort to evade Slade. "I'm not the bad guy this time" Slade tells him as he hauls him up by his shirt. The spark that had faded was back, even if the kid's strength wasn't. Two feet planted on Slade's chest, jump kicking as hard as he could to escape. If his energy hadn't already been depleted from the run, he might have made it. Blue fire races through eyes that have finally focused correctly. Slade rotates him with difficulty, pins him. He had been prepared for this, the needle finds its home, and the sedative takes effect immediately.

He has to carry the kid back to the car. He's lighter then he should be.

When he arrives at the drop point, Dick is waiting, he's not alone; he had lied. The girl is with him, the redhead.

She gasps when she sees Tim. "His mask!" she exclaims, and she runs to the boy, pulls him in her arms.

"I'll be seeing you" Slade says to Dick before he gets in the car and drives away. He ditches the car, he doubles back, and he takes false turns. When he's certain he's lost the Bat, he rents a car and leaves town. He meant to go back to Arkham, clean the scene, but the Bat is already on the case, too late now.

……………

Author's note.

What did you guys think? Give me some reviews. If there's a call for it, I'll write some more. I have a half conceived idea of Tim ditching the persona of Robin, and maybe even his persona as Tim, tracking down Slade and becoming Renegade, entirely of his own volition.

If you can't tell, I'm obsessed with Robin, and it's impossible to be a fan of the cartoons, and obsessed with Robin, without also obsessing over Return of the Joker.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Wow, I got two reviews the first day I had this up. Guess I wasn't the only one who thought there was an unfortunate lack of Tim/Slade Fiction. Those who desire more, your wish is my command.

* * *

"Again" Slade says. No emotion is apparent in his tone.

"I've already run through the drill five times" Dick replies.

"And you haven't done it correctly once" Slade regards the young man from his chair. His throne when he's not fooling himself. The gears in the room turn in a steady rhythmic cacophony. He stands, activates the mechanisms used for the routine, and demonstrates perfectly.

"That's what I've been doing" Nightwing shouts at him angrily. He's so far from correct that he can't even discern the difference.

Slade looks for the youth who led the Teen Titans against him in countless battles. That kid is gone; he has been replaced with this. That such potential was wasted on the likes of Batman burns Slade. No doubt the young man was still a work of art, the swing of the kick, the line of the punch were still breathtaking works of beauty, but once these features were set off most stunningly by the potential that Slade had seen. An artist could have taken these lines and built a masterpiece. Batman had settled for less.

"You're dismissed" Slade said. He watched Nightwing stalk out, his smoldering temper that Slade had once found amusing now grates on his nerves. He knows that Dick has smuggled a means of communicating with the Bat into this, his sanctuary. He permits this, for now, and he has no doubt that at this moment, the kid was going to hide in his room and report.

Slade has other work to do. He maintains a vast network of connections, news and data, filtered through programs of his own design to bring all the events worthy of his note to his attention. Even with the filtering software, sorting through the raw data was a time consuming chore, but a necessary one. He had carefully crafted his reputation around his uncanny ability to always know what was really going on. This daily task was a necessary step to maintaining this façade. Running through the key words several pieces of information caught his eye immediately. Alvin Draper had been transferred from the more luxurious Shady Meadows Psychiatric Facility to the sterner and more heavily fortified Spitzer Institute of Psychiatric Care. Further probes into the matter show that seven employees at Shady Meadows had recently been treated in the hospital. Four were treated and released; three were admitted for more severe injuries. Real facts about the situation were elusive; someone had gone to an effort to make sure of that. Batman probably has no reason to realize that Slade already knew Alvin Draper was an alias created for Tim Drake, but then again, he was not brushing this scandal under the rug solely for Slade's sake, the Wayne family reputation had to be seen after. The same doctor attending Tim Drake, alias: Alvin Draper, had also transferred. Dr. Leslie Thompkins. Her background does not suggest she was the correct doctor for this job. Batman really likes to be the one playing all the cards.

He adjusts the training controls that Dick was just practicing on. Maximum setting. After the effort finally clears his head, he makes his way to Dick's room.

He doesn't knock, it's his home, and he doesn't have to. He opens the door and steps in; the expression on Dick's face says volumes.

Slade can see that he has something to say, so he waits for it. He has all the time in the world.

"Forensics came back on Harley Quinzel" There is spitting anger in his voice. Slade can already see that this conversation was going to reference the untimely death of the Joker's girlfriend, and Tim's role in it.

He only waits for Dick to finish saying what he started. Obviously the young man can't make up his mind about how to phrase this.

"I assume this is about the teeth marks?" Slade finally says. He keeps his voice low, only the lightest hint of the cocky purr he uses when speaking to Dick. He remembers the scene, the animal frenzy in the broken bird as he stabbed and slashed and of course, bit. In his mind he stops the memory and replays it, no, it wasn't a frenzy, there was control, the kid struggled with his failing strength, unfamiliar with the tool in his hand, or even of his surroundings, but even then the kid had a goal, and he pursued it.

"How could you let him!!" And Dick's fist is flying at Slade. He easily sidesteps and Nightwing goes crashing past him. A man controlled by his anger is easily defeated, and so Dick is.

When Slade has a subdued Nightwing pinned, he whispers in his ear,"I let him because he needed it, you may never know, you may never be the one who screamed and cried and begged for two weeks that your comrades would find you before it was too late; that your family would find you, and thus you do not know what he needed at that time, but I did, you really should thank me"

That silences the anger. Nightwing clearly doesn't like to think about what occurred in those two weeks. When Slade is confident that Nightwing had given up the fight he lets him go.

"You're dismissed, Richard, consider our contract absolved"

Slade leaves the room before the dumbstruck hero can retort.


	3. Chapter 3

His reputation would be lost if anyone saw Slade now. Hip deep in mud and bat guano, mapping out the elaborate system of caves honeycombing subterranean Gotham. There stands a strong possibility that if he navigates correctly, this cave will connect to Batman's lair. GPS doesn't work under ground, and there's also a strong possibility he will get lost and die down here. The benefits seem worth the risk, and he packed 48 hours of emergency food and water.

When the ceiling gets lower, he moves to his hands and knees. When even that's too narrow, he crawls along his elbows, belly to the ground. It's a good thing he is not claustrophobic he decides. Darkness and earth are pressing in on him from every side. If his light died, he would be blind. His light won't die; its high end and virtually indestructible, the best tool for the job. If he stops and focuses, he can feel a breeze. This tunnel leads somewhere, of that he can be certain.

After an hour of crawling, his armor is scratched beyond repair, but his narrow shaft exits into a large natural chamber. Slade kills his light and switches on his night vision; there is a tiny amount of ambient light from deeper in the chamber. Light is promising.

The crevice he exits out of is so narrow he has to remove parts of his armor to pass through. It doesn't help that it also exits almost forty feet above the chamber floor. After some less then graceful acrobatics, he is in the chamber.

Moving slowly, careful for any security measures, he moves towards the light. When he sees the remains of a deconstructed Batmobile, he knows he found the target. Beyond the defunct vehicle was a garage of similar cars, in various states of readiness. Slade also encountered the first of several security sensors, which he avoids with delicate care.

He could spend days here going through the Bat's discarded play things, but he has a very specific goal. When he reaches Batman's main work area, he can't help but notice the similarities to his own headquarters.

The computer is already booted up. Slade slides a SD card into the correct terminal. Downloading a small amount of software to cover his tracks first, he then proceeds to copy all files with Tim's name on them. There are copious quantities of video files. Moving quickly, he pulls the card out, it's important to get hard copies sometimes, and opens a control terminal cover. Precisely and efficiently he solders a tiny device no bigger then a dime to one of the leads, with the software he uploaded, this should allow him back door access to Batman's system. Even if it functions correctly, and it might not, it won't last long. Batman is as paranoid as Slade is, and Slade had certainly removed a few similar devices from his network. Hence the SD card safely stowed in a special padded pouch.

He's tempted to stay and download more. Batman has more files then Slade could ever lift on micro cards alone, but with time, he could take the best.

He resists temptation; he needs to make his exit as soon as possible. Hoping the ghost patch will do its job, he makes his way back to the same crevice he crawled out of.

It's hours before he sees sky again. Almost eight hours crawling through crevices so tight they seemed almost impassable, and wading through mud and bat guano. His reward was this SDHC card. If he had known it would be so easy he would have done it years ago.

At some point Batman will realize the theft that occurred, he will find Slade's pathway in, he'll fix his security leak. This was probably a one shot only chance to get into the Bat's network, he's glad he saved it until he actually had something worth getting.

When he arrives home covered in filth, he wants nothing more then to see if his ghost patch connected him, but first a shower. When he finally feels clean again, he loads the program, there's no one there to see his smile when it connects. He browses the file names starting to prioritize his download when his screen goes blue. He didn't even have the program going 10 minutes before Batman shut it down.

With a sigh Slade packs up those things he can't live without, destroys those things he can't leave behind, and abandons the building. Batman will be after him now, he regrets nothing, it was worth the shot, no matter the cost, and at least he got the card.

When he's safely miles away, he opens his laptop and slides the card in. Browsing the video files, he opens a file named 'Joker Family Videos'. It's two hours before he's seen the last video. He watched all of them; he forced himself to watch all of them. He knows Batman has done the same. The boy was so valiant. He hadn't realized how similar Tim had been to Dick. Or how he imagines Dick was at that age. Dick was already halfway to a man by the time Slade had finally met him, this kid was only thirteen.

Yet the fact remains clear that while the Joker had certainly subdued him, the kid never broke. Given time, a few more days even, he might have, but the kid never broke. He never revealed the secrets the Joker was trying to get out of him; he never gave the Joker any satisfaction. He was just a child, and he withstood torture for two weeks. Slade could even see it in his face. He could see the hope draining out of the kid. In the first days his struggles were fierce, as he grew weaker the light in his visage dried up. There was one video in particular. It seemed the Joker had left the camera rolling by accident, recording nothing but the boy lying there, panting for breath, blood and vomit drying on his clothes. When he was alone in the room, Slade saw the despair the child felt. When they returned, so did his courage. He gave them nothing.

When Slade could no longer bear to keep watching the videos over, he opened another file. 'Spitzer Surveillance', it read. Slade was expecting to see that Batman had tapped into Spitzer's internal security system. He had not anticipated that Batman had thoroughly planted his own video surveillance to monitor Tim, twenty four seven. The folder contained all the video collected in the four weeks since Tim's transfer to Spitzer. It was low quality, ultra compressed video. Slade could see Tim as he was now. Seven weeks after his rescue, thinner still, than he had been before. The change in physique made him look wiry, not weak. His hair was getting shaggy; it had not been cut since sometime before the incident. The audio had been recorded separately and synched with the video. His voice had resumed some of its original tone, but there was still a throaty rasp when he spoke. Slade would not be surprised if that was caused by permanent damage. Slade sped the video up to four times speed and watched the first few days of Tim's habitation at Spitzer. The boy smiled and interacted, and spoke like he was fine, but he demonstrated an ultra heightened awareness of his surroundings that indicated a hidden paranoia, a useful paranoia. They drugged him to sleep at night, but he still slept fitfully. When he was alone he did Pilates and calisthenics. Barbara and Alfred visited him frequently, Dick less so, Bruce Wayne, almost never. Barbara was apparently tutoring him in schoolwork. The kid smiled at her, the façade of recovery was almost flawless. Slade watched him when others were not there, hands running over the fork or butter knife, eyes shifting. Slade saw the video of the kid testing the sturdiness of the steel window frames, the locking mechanisms. The kid was as trapped here as he was before, and he knows it.

Slade knew he could get out if he wanted to, but only if he was really willing to commit himself to it.

It's become a routine for Slade these past few days, to watch the videos absent mindedly as he went about his normal business. He knows the video is weeks old, but it's easy to forget. He sees the boy hording small items to make tools, he sees the boy retching up their pills when they leave the room. The kid won't be there long; Slade will be ready when he is ready to leave.

………………

Author's note: I totally wrote the words "back door access to Batman". Did you catch it?

Going out of town this weekend! Bringing the netbook with me, maybe I'll write more, probably won't, hate the keyboard on that thing.

Also, I promise Tim's going to have an active role in the next chapter; I just wanted a couple of chapters to set up that situation. I think I am compelled to over explain how things occur in my fictions. You probably thought "I don't actually need all this detail, lets just get to the character interaction" and you would be right, but I am compelled to write this anyway. I always have to think about how these characters would be in a real world setting, which I guess ruins a little of the magic, but that's why they're on my mind so often in the first place!


	4. Chapter 4

Tim is coping; he's actually doing a remarkable job of coping. He was born to cope, to cope with mom leaving, to cope with being hungry all the time, and being cold when dad was too drunk to pay the gas bill, and dad was never home to feel cold anyway, compared to all that two weeks of, (shocks and serums) of that, is nothing.

He was born to cope. And he was doing it now. He smiles at Dr. Saunders, a very prestigious doctor who had been hired with Wayne's copious amounts of money to help poor Alvin Draper, orphan of no relation to Bruce Wayne who was recently harassed and tortured by the Joker for reasons totally unrelated to Batman. Dr. Saunders, of course, knows the real facts; he needs to be to 'help' Tim. Later when they talk about the rough spots in his life (27 needles, all in the sweet spots, 28 needles, mind the baby's soft spot) Tim will cry. He is expected to cry, he would like to thank the academy and his family for his performance.

Dr. Saunders wants to talk about Tim's childhood. Tim is pretty certain he never actually was a child. Not after mom left. Dad didn't tell him, he found out anyway, mom never even made it to Vegas; her car was number four in an eleven car pile up 58 miles before Los Vegas. Sometimes it's easier to make your peace with your parent's grave then it is with them. Mom never got the chance to tell Tim; it wasn't that she didn't want kids; it was that she didn't want Tim. (Hush little baby don't say a word, momma's going to buy you a mocking bird) Tim could always choose to believe now that she was intending to come back. Dad too, he totally would have come back, and realized how fucked up his life was, he was going to get a job, maybe it wouldn't pay much, but if just quit the whiskey (the chemicals, the toxins) it would have been enough. Maybe Batman would be willing to conveniently die, so that Tim can pretend that he always intended to let him out of here, not make him live out Alvin Draper's fucked up life.

He's not willing to lie, to protect Batman, not any longer. Alfred was a different story. And Barbara. Alfred came to visit poor little Alvin. Barbara came to visit Tim. He was so out of it that night, after Slade and Slade's needles, (I'm not the bad guy, this time) but he remembers her red hair and warm tears burning down his face, they weren't his tears. He cried all his tears, he had dried his tear ducts, and he had burned their crops and salted their lands.

He copes with living here. He knows where all the cameras are. Well, most of the cameras. Cameras are just something else he has to cope with, these cameras and the other ones, the ones that clicked as they turned the film reels, where does anyone even buy film anymore, how do you get film developed? Film of him (Mommy's little JJ) of him… he can't even complete the thought, he's got coping mechanisms for that though. He saw some of the films, films the Joker made him watch, with Harley running her hands through his greasy unwashed hair (Just give daddy what he wants, we don't want to hurt you baby) the Joker thought his mind would break faster if he watched his body being broken.

He didn't break; he survived those cameras, now he's got these. He puts on his show for the cameras, he shows them remorse and regret. He tries to hide the pills he was supposed to take, the sharpened shanks, the improvised tools. He knows he's not hiding all of them.

He wonders when he became the bad guy, but he can probably guess. When Harley died (blood, so much blood, blood on Tim's hands, but he couldn't stop, or he wouldn't stop, not until Slade stepped in) Batman always had to define the good guy (I'm not the bad guy, this time) and he had a pretty narrow definition. The good guy never killed anyone; the good guy always turned the other cheek. If Tim had died, would Batman then have offered them Barbara? Tim shudders to think, if the Joker had captured Barbara. She has a harder time coping then Tim does.

Dr. Saunders asks him what he is thinking about, Tim had zoned out again. "I'm thinking about the similarities between the Joker and my father"

And it's true. The cameras, the restraints, and locked doors, the drugs, and needles. He doesn't tell Dr. Saunders that, instead he says "all they wanted was a son, but a son on their own terms" and that is also the truth.

And where was 'father' when Tim needed him? (You're not Batman). He hired a villain to rescue Tim. Slade was a villain.

Why was Slade a villain? Because he killed people? Tim killed people. (You didn't kill her, I did) All Tim knows about Slade are the stories. Dick's stories. Tim wonders how accurate those stories are. He knows Dick is the one, who actually negotiated with Slade, he obviously, despite his professed hatred, had a way to call Slade. A deal was struck. Tim didn't know the details, but he remembered what Dick told him about Slade, about what the man really seemed to want, an apprentice. (He deserves to know you're Ok, and you can't stay with me) Dick's absence was suspicious. The lesson Tim was learning is that Slade was the bad guy, except when you needed him. Except when it was convenient to forget.

In the dining hall Tim sits with his 'friends'. Sullen angry children like him, trapped here by families who couldn't deal with them at home. He didn't really like any of them except Abby. Abby who was rich once, who was smart, and who recognized Tim Drake immediately. They had met once or twice, years before, at some Gotham social event, before her family lost everything in lawsuits. They used to have too much money and a funny uncle. Then they had not enough money and two fucked up daughters. Until Libby's suicide, then they just had Abby, bitter, brittle Abby. Who wore long sleeves, and who never ate quite enough; who despite being more fucked up then Tim was easily his favorite person in the world.

In the dining room she's pretending to eat. Jack and Greg are there too. They don't need to pretend. "I'm getting out" she says, "Hallelujah, I'm cured" Tim knows better. Her family can't afford to keep her here any longer. He's been looking for his own ways out, without her he'll be motivated to find that sooner, the money to keep him here is never going to run out. "I'll be back for you soon" he wonders how she could know that, he always had some theories about her. Meta, he suspects, not powerful, some kind of foresight or mind reading, he's not really sure which. If she has powers at all, they're not much to speak of. He wonders if her sister had them too, to be able to see the terrible events coming, and unable to stop them. Tim would have killed himself too.

When she said she was getting out, she meant tomorrow. Tim would have missed his chance to say good bye if she hadn't stalled. He was having a session with Dr. Saunders when her family showed up. Tim can tell that they blame her, but they don't say it. It wasn't Uncle Henry's fault; it was her fault, and Libby's and the other girls. Ice couldn't melt with this family. He would hug her goodbye, but she doesn't like to be touched.

Instead he just stands there, and she smiles wanly. She gives him her Gamepod, she wraps her arms around herself. She turns to leave, she doesn't say goodbye. He says it for her. She just turns and smiles again.

The next two days go by in a haze. He doesn't talk to Greg or Jack, no point without Abby around. In his head he hears Harley singing that damn lullaby, driving him (crazy, baby is a little bit crazy, don't you think so Pudding?) up a wall.

He avoids the cameras. It's second nature now. He examines the doors. The door to his room is locked manually, he can pick it. The door the wing is electric. If only he could find a way to over ride it (time for baby's favorite!! Shock therapy) with an electrical current, it wouldn't take much if properly applied.

His mind wraps around the idea while he deliberately keeps it off other (screaming, screaming until he's gasping for breath, until the screams themselves tear through his throat like knives) less savory thoughts.

The Gamepod that Abby left him. Her father had frowned when she gave it, it wasn't the best Gamepod, but it was hers to give. The battery in it was about the most powerful battery he had access to. (the clamps make a 'Ka-Chunk' noise as they are connected to the metal table he is strapped too) It might not work (the needle full of serum makes no noise at all)

Tonight is the night he tries. If he fails the Batman will increase security, or move him, really he won't be any worse off. He has no idea where he will go when he escapes. He doesn't know the terrain. One step at a time.

At 3:30 am he picks the lock to his door, his improvised tools that he had collected were not ideal for the job, but they worked. He knows he can't stay entirely in the camera's blind spot (Smile for the camera baby) but he tries. He leaves his pillow and a pile of clothing stuffed under the blankets just in case.

The doors to the wing are, are entirely predictable, to Tim's pleasant surprise. The Gamepod battery was just enough to over load the circuit and open them. All the doors after that are manually locked. They don't have enough money to autonomize everything. Not here, though had he waited, Wayne's contributions might have changed that.

He makes it to the last door before the alarm sounds. He knows better then to be distracted. He focuses on the goal, escape. He doesn't react until the guards are on him, and even then, they barely slow him down. They're trained to restrain normal crazy people, they're not prepared for Tim (little Joker Jr.).

When Tim feels the fresh breeze, he wants to stop, to really feel it when he inhales, but he doesn't have time, he takes off running. He's stopped when a car pulls out. He takes less then a moment to comprehend before he opens the door and jumps in, seems like he's always being saved these days (You're not Batman).

"Told you I'd be back for you soon" Abby says, from the driver's seat as she guns it. It's an older model Buick Century. Nothing pride inspiring, but if it gets him away from here, it's a golden chariot.

When they hit the highway she goes west, opposite of Tim's inclinations, but he stops himself from saying anything. Her intuitions got her this far.

She laughs from the driver's seat "An Adventure!" she shouts as much to world beyond her rolled down window as to Tim. She definitely wasn't cured.

When they stop for gas at a truck stop, Tim finds her talking to a young dark haired boy. "I think you should get off here, Tim".

The kid she was talking too was hitchhiking. Abby is smart, she knows there will be helicopters and video cameras when they find her; she knows she needs a dark hair boy to make the escape seem realistic. When she smiles, Tim can almost believe she intends to survive this adventure. "Go to Chicago" she says as she walks back to the car, hitchhiker in tow. Tim resists the urge to warn her to be careful around strangers.

He finds his own ride, in a semi, with a lady at the wheel. He is more inclined to trust women. She has a cross hanging from the rearview mirror, he gives her his best winsome smile and most believable story. She takes him as far as Peoria. He gets off, he finds another ride. Chicago or bust baby.

He's drinking coffee at a truck stop diner with the handful of small bills Abby pressed into his hand on the road when he sees the news. Escaped mental patient and former patient die in horrific car accident. The fire blazing on the TV screen shows that it will take weeks to confirm dental records. They don't show Alvin Draper's photo, Tim wonder's how much Wayne had to pay to keep that off the air. Just Abby, smiling, pretty Abby, as she looked years ago, hair well trimmed, highlighted professionally, wearing her best Sunday smile. Not the real Abby, dark haired and sullen. He knows it's how she wanted it; she had always been ready to finally escape, to find Libby. That doesn't make Tim less sad. He can cope with that too.

Chicago is like Gotham. More refined maybe; more museums, and colleges, and college kids on bicycles, more street side vendors and parks with public restrooms; he's almost safe on the subways. Go to Chicago, she said, there must be a reason. The money she gave him doesn't last long. He can cope with that, he did it before Batman.

But he's not the kid he was before Batman. He can fly. At least he used to be able to fly. Flight is gear, is line launchers and reinforced capes and, always being able to find the sweet spot, the anchor spot on any building. It doesn't take Tim long to find a rooftop to call home. It's not warm but it's…. it's almost as good as flight and there is just enough space to sleep in the maintenance stair case, almost cozy with his blanket and his growing stash of supplies.

He made a grapple. Not a good kind, but the kind you have to throw, and it took him almost 6 hours of tossing it to get the aim right. To get the aim good enough to risk his weight on. Even then it was slow. He didn't know how to travel this city by rooftop. Often he'd wind up on a roof just to find that the only one accessible from it was the one he just came from. Then he'd have to rewind the grapple, by hand, and toss it again, sometimes two or three times, just to go back the way he came, slowly and tediously. After months at Shady Meadows, it was heaven.

He was traveling across rooftops at night when he first spotted the figure.

Slade.

At first he thought it was Batman or Nightwing. When he realized it wasn't, he could have kicked himself for making such an obvious mistake. When he looks, really looks, the differences are night and day.

Slade was traveling by moonlight. He had search tools, binoculars, and …. Robots? Dick had mentioned robots, sladebots, he would think the name ridiculous if he hadn't worked with a man who drove a batmobile if he hadn't once prized a batarang above all other possessions.

He was looking for something. Or someone, Tim shuddered at first, to think of the hunter looking for his prey, but then he remembered, he was once the prey. He was found, he was saved. (from scalpels that cut quick and clean)

First he was scared, and then he was intrigued. He couldn't follow, his equipment wouldn't allow it, so he lurked. He swiped a camera from tourists in Millennium Park, zoom lens for viewing. For three nights he lurked, catching glimpses here and there, until finally Slade stopped on his rooftop. He thought it was Slade, it moved different, more chaotically then the others, but still methodical. He was reasonably certain it was not a robot.

"Robin" and when he says it, it's unlike Tim remembers his voice, it's a low purr, it's soft and warm and like a blanket fresh from the dryer.

"I thought I told you" Tim says from his shadow "I'm not Robin anymore"

"I can work with that" Slade says, in that pervasive voice.

……………………

Whew!!! You guys wouldn't believe how hard this was to write. I started it 4 times before I had a version that would take. I really wanted to write this whole thing from Slade's POV, but it didn't work out. Next chapter will be from Slade's POV

So if you're wondering about Abby, she is, or was, a Plot Device. I made this prison for Tim and then I didn't know how he would escape it, so I invented a plot device, I named her Abby.

Also, in my alternate version, Tim was rescued after only two weeks. So let's all pretend he was rescued before he really went off the deep end.

The next chapter will absolutely be from Slade's POV, it will be of him looking for Tim, and finding him. As soon as I've figured out how the first conversation will go, I will know the rest of it, I already have most of the later parts figured out. If anyone reading this has an idea how that first conversation will go, please contact me via private message. I need a little inspiration. I'll figure it out eventually anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: Reader's who don't already know. Wintergreen is Slade's butler. He is to Slade what Alfred is to Batman, relatively. He has some elaborate history that I could go into, but you don't need to know all that, and if you do, then wikipedia will help you out. He was shown at least once in the cartoon. Slade was angry so he smashed a teacup and then Wintergreen came out (un-named) and swept up the broken porcelain. That is all!

………………………..

Slade is vexed, infinitely. He had other more important projects to be working on; ones he did not dare mention to the voice on the other side the phone.

"You won't have any problems upholding your end of the contract?" The smug voice said over the headset, Slade could detect supreme satisfaction in the man's voice.

"No, Lex, I won't" Slade replied. What else could he reply. His Sladebot manufacturing facilities couldn't be bought, not at any price. Not by Slade anyway. Luther did not have such limitations. Some obligations are more important then his current preoccupation.

He spends the rest of the day setting elaborate automated notifications on his current surveillance project, Tim Drake. No longer satisfied with Batman's stolen video, he has tapped into the live feed. It took some serious hacking and a brief visit to simply go out and manually splice a few wires, but he now had live, twenty four seven access to Batman's well planted surveillance cameras at Spitzer Psychiatric Facility. More then that actually, though Tim Drake hardly knows to thank him, he's been making judicious use of well edited video loops to give Batman the joyful impression that Tim was a happy and well adjusted recovering teen. He can only hope Tim doesn't do anything too brash while Slade's gone.

Lex's project takes longer then expected. Most unfortunate and grisly business; but better still, to nip these up and coming Costumes in the bud before they make a ruckus. The kid had some talent, shame he had to waste it trying to take on Luther. Under more ideal circumstances, Slade might have played some bait and switch, drawn out the game to see what the kid was really up for. When Slade is certain no one would find the remains, much less trace the deed back to its originators, he can leave. Return to his makeshift base, he has other, more permanent housing being prepared, he trusts Wintergreen to handle that. His plane is only just taking off when his system sends the alert. Tim has begun to move.

He curses silently. If only the damn kid could have waited a day longer. When he lands, it's already too late. The kid is gone. Slade reviews the last few days of events at Spitzer and deciphers the circumstances. Tim left for a girl, how unoriginal. Still, Slade's not going to judge a teenager for his hormones.

Words can not describe his irritation. He leaves for four days and all hell breaks loose. Batman knows too, if he could have kept this hushed from him, it would have been salvageable. He has to find the kid before the Bat or not at all.

He sets up search perimeters in the most logical manner. There is an ever expanding range of locations they could have reached by personal vehicle in the time since Tim's escape. Within those limitations, he acquires access to as many surveillance systems and local news videos as possible, using facial reorganization software and certain keywords to search for anything of interest. He taps local law enforcement resources to obtain any information available on vehicles matching the description of hers.

He would have figured the kid to head to nearest city, but evidence does not support that theory. Something odd about the girl too it appears, possible meta powers, data is inconclusive. It takes his net almost 12 hour to get a hit.

Local law enforcement was in pursuit of her vehicle on Interstate 80 west of Columbus, the girl was driving, she had a passenger, dark haired male, Tim; presumably. It takes him twenty minutes to reach the location by personal jet. He waits for law enforcement to make the capture or lose them. He does not expect the girl to swerve off the road. To hit the concrete pillar. He does not expect to see the car erupt in flames, with the two occupants still inside. He had plans. Big plans, plans that went nothing like this.

Slade didn't think it was possible for his mood to get any worse.

He needs to cut his loses; there was equipment he had purchased for this. He needs to call Wintergreen and let him know that plans have changed. He needs to do quite a few things. He needs to get some sleep; it's been days since he's slept properly, everything can wait until morning. He returns to his base, he does not stop to reminisce about today's fiasco.

Time, nor sleep does nothing to improve his mood, he awakens several hours later still quite agitated at the dismal failure of his project.

When he finally goes to his central workstation, he is….

He is astounded.

He had not deactivated his search net after he had left to intercept Tim last night. It had caught her car; there had been a boy in it who roughly matched Tim's description. Slade rarely makes assumptions, but at the time, it had been a safe assumption that Tim was the passenger in the now destroyed Buick.

Nonetheless Tim had been spotted less then 4 hours ago outside Peoria, Illinois. Video surveillance showed him climbing into a courier van at an interstate rest area. North bound.

Tim was alive and well, and headed to Chicago.

Slade wasted no time. He traveled to Chicago immediately. He set up his own makeshift base of operations in an abandoned office complex, he scattered video cameras across the city, and he connected them all to a nexus of computers.

He patrolled, but discreetly. If the Bat did not know the kid was here, Slade had no reason to draw attention to the situation.

The first time he caught the kid on camera he grinned behind his mask. The kid had fashioned a grapple, he was staying to the rooftops, once a Robin, always a Robin. Time to track down this bird once and for all.

Three nights later he has him.

The kid automatically fades into the shadows. He still has the training, and the habits. Good.

"Robin" Slade says. Or rather, he purrs. He knows how Robins are; they react well to certain audio cues.

"I thought I told you" the kid's voice is still harsh from the Joker's rough handling, "I'm not Robin anymore"

Heaven and hell couldn't have made Dick say that when he was this kid's age. Slade can see the kid in his shadow; his wild blue eyes glance at the sladebots arriving on the roof behind Slade, his stance adjusts. Slade can see the fight or flight response the kid was preparing, his eyes give everything away. Magnificent.

"I can work with that" Slade replies as he approaches the boy's shadow.

"Dick send you again?" Tim asks, but Slade can see that his body language already says he doesn't believe it.

Slade thinks this is going quite well, Tim is reacting entirely as planned, right down to the fist that swings at Slade with well placed accuracy and force. Months on the shelf had done little to dull the kid's talent. Slade was still able to easily dodge.

The fist was just the diversion. The kid takes off running full throttle, he is swinging the grapple and leaping before he could know it's secure. It's a leap the kid must have made a hundred times before, to trust his skill so completely. Slade is delighted. Nothing invigorates like a game of cat and bird.

He gives chase. The kid had studied this skyline, he moved quickly, but his equipment was not the match for Slade's the grapple had to be rewound by hand, and the kid could not move fast enough. Slade could have used the sladebots at any time, but he did not necessarily want this encounter to come to blows. Yet.

"I don't think you have the right equipment for this game Tim" Slade says. He is not even winded from the chase. The kid is panting heavily already. Regular and vigorous exercise would fix that.

Slade reaches into his belt and pulls a spare line launcher. "Here kid, a gift", and he slides it across the rooftop. The kid stares at it for a minute before picking it, examining it briefly. When he looks up Slade can see the desperation and relief in his blue eyes. He holds the line launcher close to his chest, like a safety blanket.

"What do you want?" the kid pants, confusion evident in his voice.

"I'm trying to be as obvious as I can about that, I want you Tim" when Slade approaches him, the kid sidles towards the edge of the roof, line launcher clutched to his heart. But he doesn't fire it.

Arms locked behind his back for dramatic pose, Slade stops in front of the kid. "I want an apprentice" he says.

The kid eyes the building over, Slade knows the kid could find the anchor spots on it blindly, he can see the kid weighing the options of flight.

"What's in it for me?" the kid asks.

"Flight, freedom, the sky is the limit" Slade bends to look the kid directly in the eye. The kid hasn't had the best access to hygiene lately, but Slade ignores that. Such bright blue eyes, they hide nothing. He wears his thoughts naked without the mask; Slade can see why Batman hid those eyes. The kid is seriously considering the offer.

"No needles, no drugs, no cameras in my room" Tim says. His wide blue eyes level intently on Slade's one grey eye. Batman had really played a number on this kid.

"Deal" Slade stands abruptly and turns his back on the kid "this way" he says, as he fires his own line, the kid already has the necessary equipment to follow.

Slade leads the way across town to an industrial warehouse district. To the abandoned office complex he had taken over. The kid follows, he talks less then Dick used to, he doesn't say anything on the trip.

When they arrive Slade points him to the bathroom, the shower is already stocked with soap and shampoo. Tosses him a sack of nondescript clothing. They won't stay here long. Slade knew better then to keep the kid stateside. He would train him overseas.

When the kid is clean the food is ready. Nothing fancy, protein, vegetables, starch. A well balanced meal.

While Slade pilots the jet, the kid dozes off in the passenger seat, still clutching the line launcher.

They barely exchanged a dozen words since the rooftop.


	6. Chapter 6

"Go to Chicago" Abby had told him, before she drove off to her death. Tim stares at Slade across the rooftop. Was this what she had meant? His life has always been confusing; he should be used to it by now.

He holds the line launcher to his chest, if he says no, can he still keep it? He wants to run just so he can fire it. But why should he say no? Because Batman would disapprove, that thought is hardly censuring now.

As if he needs another father figure. Why is everyone always after him? Will it be the same this time, will it be mind altering and mood altering drugs, cameras to record his every movement, locked doors. Tim needs more then just a change in scenery. The line launcher is heavy and real in his hands, a grounding rod. He could point it, fire it, he could leap. He could fly.

"No needles, no drugs, and no cameras in my room" He finally says. It wasn't an epic speech, somehow he feels this situation needs an epic speech, but he can't quite grasp the words. His words lack gravity.

"Deal" Slade says in that invasive voice of his. Tim wonders if he practices that voice when he's alone. He'll ask later, maybe. Slade turns and walks away; he apparently isn't worried about Tim attacking him from behind. Or he's just that confident in his own ability. Probably the later, Tim decides. "This way" Slade says as he launches his line.

Tim has a second to react, running and firing his own, falling into the older man's shadow. It's déjà vu. Maybe Slade should wear a cape.

The journey takes them across rooftops. Farther then he had yet ventured, into a north town warehouse district. There is an abandoned office complex.

They enter by rooftop, there is a lock on the door, and Slade opens it with a punch code. Tim is reasonably certain the code was 7-2-5-9-2. He watched, he'll remember. This lifestyle stopped being a game.

Slade leads him through seemingly endless empty hallways; deserted buildings make Tim feel uneasy. He keeps waiting for ghosts that probably only exist in his mind. When they finally stop, Tim feels like saying 'Jackpot' when they enter the room full of thick cables and glowing LCD screens. He doesn't. He doesn't say much at all. If it were Dick , or Barbara, or even Bruce, he might crack a joke. Not now, not Slade.

Slade shows him the bathroom, Tim silently thanks the dude for not pointing out how bad Tim must reek. It's been awhile since his last real shower. He checks the bathroom for cameras, that's just habit by now. The water is extra hot, Tim is pretty sure that a hot shower is one of man kinds greatest advances.

When he feels like he is approaching human again, he gets dressed in the clothes Slade provided. If the man hid any bugs, he did it very well, Tim checked everything, twice. Cargo khakis, polo, black boots. Non descript. Everything fits, but he has to cinch the belt to keep the trousers up.

When he steps back into the main rooms he smells the food. Did Slade cook this? He pictures Slade wearing a apron, whipping something up in the kitchen, maybe Slade is secretly a Julia Child fan. Suddenly he remembers a glimpse of something he had tried very hard to forget: Joker wearing a 'kiss the cook' apron, before he… before he reached for the clamps. The smile that was starting to form melts from Tim's face.

The food is good, really good. Good in the way that a hot meal always is after a week of stolen scraps and junk food. Meat and vegetables, potatoes, the seasoning is bland, Tim couldn't care less. He hopes he didn't look to desperate while scarfing it down.

"where are we going?" Tim asks from the passenger seat of the plane.

"Southeast Asia" Slade replies. Curt, to the point, but also non specific, Tim can appreciate that. It's better then lying.

He struggles to stay awake, but eventually he dozes. He knows he's still clutching the line launcher like his teddy bear, and some part of him is even aware enough to be embarrassed.

The change in cabin pressure alerts him to awaken. He rubs the sleep from his eyes. He can see glittering ocean as the jet approaches the island. Philippines maybe?

When Tim glances over he's shocked. Slade had removed the mask. And the armor. The mask is more shocking. He had read the files, he knew what Slade Wilson had looked like. Still, it was a shock. "Your Mask" Tim points out.

The man smirks at him. Dick had told him that the guy was prone to smirk, when had Dick said that? White hair, grey eye, white eye patch, white goatee. The hair color is deceiving, the guy is no older then Bruce.

"Won't be needing it here, your name, for the record is George Dunlap, Jr."

An alias for Tim, huh.? George Dunlap Jr. (ma belly dun lap ov'r ma belt) "And your name?" he asks.

"My name is Slade, of course" The white haired man replies. His voice lacks the smooth polish he used with the mask on. Just like Bruce with his Batman voice. Interesting.

Slade had also changed into the same cargo khakis, and polo as Tim. If they stood side by side, it actually looked like a uniform. When they exited the jet he realized it was the same uniform that all the baggage handlers wore. It was second nature for Tim to slide into the group as though he belonged there. He's perfected a smile for situations like this, it's wide and crinkles his eyes, and makes him look friendly and trustable. He's practiced this smile a hundred times in front of mirrors.

They don't go through customs. Tim is not surprised. They leave through a gate that probably shouldn't exist behind the runways.

"That was Manila International Airport, wasn't it?" Tim asks. Slade raised one eyebrow. He hadn't expected Tim to figure out where they were. Maybe he meant to hijack the other Boy Wonder, the one who wasn't trained by Batman.

"Yes that was" Slade replied. A bit of the purr was coming back, Batman does that too, sometimes when you remind him he's Batman, even when he's not wearing a the suit, he lets a bit of the Bat voice creep in. Tim really has to stop comparing this guy to Batman.

They drive several hours to the coast. Tim wants to make small talk, to pass the time, he runs through several opening lines in his head 'so you kill people here often?' didn't sound reverent enough. Maybe he could start by asking about his new role in Slade's plans 'I hope the fact that you've taken me to a country known for child prostitutes does not in any way reflect upon the apprenticeship you're offering' Naw, also totally inappropriate. Instead he just sits there. Slade doesn't say anything, Tim follows his lead.

They drive to a boat, a small sailing vessel, looks barely sea worthy. Maybe Slade sees some apprehension in Tim's face because he finally says "Come on, it won't sink"

Tim reluctantly climbs on from the makeshift pier the locals had rigged out of shipping pallets. He had sailed with Wayne a few times; he roughly knew how to do it, probably. Luckily Slade knew what he was doing; he delivered commands in a clipped direct manner. Tim obeys.

They finally land on a small island. There is, apparently, only one permanent structure on the island.

The residence is, well it's pretty damn impressive. It's big and lonely. Like Wayne manor. Tim could make a comment about how it needs an Alfred, but then the butler shows up. Wintergreen, he's told. The dude doesn't say much, but what he says is in a British accent. Maybe Tim fell down a rabbit hole and this is the other side. Pretty sure the last year hasn't been a Mad Hatter construct.

Tim resists checking the grandfather clock for a secret cave. Doesn't seem to be a need. Slade apparently did not hide his work space underground. Familiar screens and cables take up the majority of the main office in the house. Tim can hear the ocean crashing beyond the windows. It's an odd parallel. Soon it's easy to remember he's not at Wayne manner at all. The smell of the ocean, the sound, the breeze through open windows, the tropical flora outside the door. Maybe that was the point, he wonders.

It's still hard to pretend he doesn't feel awkward. He's spent almost the last eight hours with this man. They've barely had a conversation in all that time. Silence is another thing that's awkward for Tim. Its better then other things (maniacal laughter for example, especially when he is the one laughing, and laughing and laughing, til he's gasping for breath and still he can't stop)

He resists the urge to crack jokes, to make sassy comments. Actually, he's rarely in the mood for jokes anymore anyway. Something else the Joker took from him.

Slade tells him to report to the infirmary in 30 minutes. The butler, Wintergreen shows him to his new room. "Your room, Mr. Drake" is what he says. He doesn't call him 'Master Tim' which is good, Tim never actually told Alfred how creepy he thought that title was.

The door to the room doesn't have a proper lock, just a bolt that slides from the inside. Apparently they trust him enough to feel the lock won't be needed. If that wasn't cherry pie enough, it's only on the second floor, and the windows open. Like open open, for real. No scratch resistant polycarbonate panes set into steel frames. He could…. He could escape. He could run away, he could hide on the island, he could leave. He was allowed to leave. In theory.

Also, his room was totally sweet. It had a desk, and a work area, and a computer, and all kinds of equipment for the computer. He didn't have to turn it on to know it would be top of the line. And books, and other equipment, microscopes, a chemistry set.

There were cool things there too, things that had nothing to do with international intrigues and more to do with being a teenager. A stereo worth more then his dad's car, and a TV with a Gamebox and a Playcube.

The décor was well chosen, shades of blue and green, with light pine bedroom furniture. Nothing dark and gothic like his room at Wayne's. The bed was big and soft, without being overly soft. The bathroom was attached. It was stocked with thick white towels and high end soaps and hair care products.

Everything was just totally sweet!!! And there were no cameras. Or if there were, they were so well hidden that Tim could not find them. Not that he would stop looking. Ever.

It seemed like he had only just checked out his rocking new digs when the butler came for him. "Mr. Drake, if you would follow me to the infirmary"

The hallways were lined with wide tall windows, white curtains swayed as the breeze flowed through them. It was like a travel brochure. This was his new home. It's hard to regret his choices now. He wonders if it was like this when Dick was his apprentice. He wonders why Dick left.

The infirmary ended up being a miniature well stocked hospital. Even Batman did not keep such high end imaging equipment, an MRI, seriously? Slade was there, mask back on. It was odd looking at the cold black and orange face. Tim tried to mask his own emotions as he entered the room. He sat on the exam table; he's familiar enough with these settings to know what's expected of him. He wonders if he should take his shirt off yet, after a moment of consideration he goes ahead. Somehow it seems more tolerable to do it as though he chose to, to not be asked.

He can't meet the man's eye like this. Even with his mask on, Slade is too human to be tolerated well when Tim is feeling helpless. He hates examination rooms. He tries not to think about ways to restrain someone to this table. He tries to keep his mind off the many implements stored in this room and how they could be used, on him, on his skin. He tries not to think about the scars now exposed on his torso. He breathes deep, he exhales. He' ok, he's coping, this is about coping, when he can open his eyes again he sees Slade standing there, watching him. Just watching.

"I've seen the films the Joker made" Tim keeps his eyes downcast; he knows there is a flush rising in his face anyway. He is ashamed of what happened, he should have been stronger, he should have been smarter. He knows that it was his fault. Barbara can tell him otherwise all she wants, it was Tim's fault. He let his guard down. He paid for it.

"I need to make a full evaluation of the physical toll that took on you" Tim hears the words that aren't said. 'I need to make sure the goods I picked up at Batman's yard sale aren't too damaged to be of use'.

He directs Tim to the MRI. He still can't get over that, Batman did not have this kind of medical equipment at the cave.

It was hard to lie still. To pretend he wasn't freaking out. He schools his face, he tries to think un-funny things. Serious like a heart attack he thinks. The MRI is tiny, and claustrophobic and coffin like. He can't help but realize that year ago; this would be a walk in the park. He draws his mind back to a year ago. When everything was still a game to be played. When he figured the worst that could happen is Bats would kick him out of the cool kids club and then he'd go back to being a regular kid again, but with like fat scholarships and stuff.

He's found his calm again by the time the MRI finally shuts down. Slade is still doing the stoic silence thing, if he saw any part of Tim's internal struggle he doesn't comment on it. With the mask on he's impossible to read. Actually, with the mask off, he would be difficult to read.

"There is something implanted in your neck, I am going to remove it" Slade says as he shuts down the machine. "I can show you the images, I do not know what it is, I know I promised no needles, so you have the option to decline anesthesia"

Tim looks at the computer screen. Is it a tracking device? No, Batman would already be here if that was the case. It almost appears to have a smiley face on it. The Joker.

If the Joker left something in Tim, he wants it gone. Now. "Is conscious surgery an option?" He asks. He really doesn't want needles full of drugs in him.

"Can you remain calm while I cut you?"

Tim knows the answer. The MRI was not invasive at all. He almost freaked out. No, he can not remain calm. Yes he will freak out. Yes he too broken to actually be any good to anybody.

"Ok" is all he says. It's not explicit invitation, it's all Slade needs. Tim looks at the screen once more. It was all the distraction Slade needed. The needle was home before Tim would even react. As he slumps unsteadily, drugs already kicking in, he looks at Slade through blurry eyes "you're not Batman" he slurs and then he's gone.

……………………..

Two chapters in two days.

If you have any questions about, well, anything let me know. If I'm over explaining things, let me know that too. Sometimes I feel like I am compelled to put too much detail. Like you guys didn't really need to know that the pier the boat was tied too was made out of cargo palates, but I couldn't help myself.

I really want to write this as the Slade from the cartoons, because he's an evil badass, but I am too contaminated by Slade from the comics, who is often more sympathetic.

Also, this is unrelated, but I started reading Secret Six recently, from DC, and I heart Deadshot for ever. I actually have a half started Deadshot fic on my computer.


	7. Chapter 7

Finally an update, and it's just a little one. It's taken me awhile to get back into the swing of things, but I got most of another chapter written too, I just have to refine some of the plot points. Here's a non plot moving chapter to set up some scenery.

...

Tim woke up in a soft bed to the touch of a warm tropical breeze. His hand rubbed the sleep from his face as he sat up and assessed his surroundings.

It took a moment for it to all sink in. He was in his recently assigned room at Slade's. He was wearing blue scrub pants. He had a thick bandage over his neck that extended past his left shoulder. The shoulder hurt when he moved his arm.

It comes back to him slowly. The Joker had put something in him, Slade had removed it. A cold chill runs through him that he quickly pushes aside. _ That part is done, move on_, his mind tells him.

He eased himself out of the bed, only half his mind acknowledged that the windows were open, that it was night, and the lights were off. No matter, he did not need lights, he was a bat. He stops himself there, _he was a bat_. It is now a past tense statement. He allows himself a moment to reel while that sinks in.

A precursory search through the dresser turned up a clean white tee shirt, further fortified with that, he heads to the door. Hand on the knob, he listens before he turns it, only silence on the other side. The knob turns, unlocked, as promised.. Tim takes a deep breath and opens the door. _One small step for Tim, One Giant step for Timkind_. Stepping out into the hallway, Tim felt like he should be stopped, or reprimanded, but no admonishment came. The hallway was deserted, the lights off. He quickly orientated himself, going the way he remembered arriving. It wasn't a hard house to figure out, and he didn't even realize he was hungry until he found the kitchen. Neither was it a hard kitchen to figure out, a turkey sandwich was quickly procured. Sliced turkey breast wrapped whole in the fridge, the bread box was where it should be, there was even mayo in the door fridge, in a plain unlabeled jar. The bread, the turkey, heck, even the mayo gave the impression of being home baked, home cooked, and homemade.

Something, some element reminded him of home. _Home_. Two ideas crossed his mind at once, and he could never say what hit him first,_ this is my home now_, or perhaps, _it's just like Alfred's. _The bread was nostalgic to say the least, soft and sliced thick.

The kitchen light flicks on while he eats. He flinches, expecting Slade, but it's not. It's the butler, Wintergreen. If Wintergreen was surprised to find him here, it never shows. Curious how much he reminds him of Alfred.

When he speaks the accent reminds him of Alfred, "I see you found your way around the kitchen"

Tim doesn't reply, he gives a small fake smile and a single jerk of his chin to indicate affirmative.

"Well I was going to offer to make you something, no point of that now" His body language was wrong. He was laid back and casual, his collar wasn't buttoned, he didn't even have his tie or jacket with him. The butler opened a cubboard and pulled out a bottle of brown liquor, whiskey if Tim wasn't mistaken. He poured it neat into a lowball glass. "Don't supposed you'd care for a tip of this?" He gestures to Tim with the glass, the brown liquor sloshing around. Tim didn't flinch, but he also didn't reply. "No? Just as well, not sure Slade would approve"

"You enjoying the island?" Tim doesn't even know how to reply to that, his experiences here have been largely unconscious. So he doesn't reply at all. The old man doesn't even seem to notice. "Can't say I mind it, does wonders for my old bones, we can't all be spry as him forever, can we?"

_Spry as him forever? _Tim's not even clear who Wintergreen is referencing.

"Is Slade here?" Tim asks

"Oh, he has a tongue then" The man was distancing himself from Alfred, miles by the moment. That's not a reply though, Tim wants to know.

"So he's here?"

"Not currently, left 6 or 7 hours ago"

"Oh" Where did he go, what is Tim supposed to do until he gets back? "What time is it?"

"Close to four A.M. I suppose. Fancy a walking tour of the island?"

"Now? Isn't it a bit late in the night for that?" Four A.M. Tim roughly estimates he's been out for close to 18 hours. What did Slade inject him with?

"Well we're both up, I'm not likely to sleep anytime soon, and neither are you if I were to guess. Now is as good a time as any" He's definitely much more... chipper, perhaps, or laid back, then Alfred ever was.

Tim considers the offer for just a moment. "I'll need to grab some shoes"

"Don't bother, you'll just get sand in them" Wintergreen says as he gestures towards the door.

They exit through a back door, not the grand manor entrance he remembered. A bright moon illuminates their walk "House was originally built as a vacation manor for some sheik or another, I'm sure you'll get to know the home itself soon enough, grounds could use a proper going after, but they'll have to do for now."

The green lawn he remembered arriving at the island is already yellowing. "Pool's there, it's clean for now, not sure how long I'm going to bother keeping it up though, don't even see why with all this ocean about." Tim can see the moon reflecting in the pools pale surface. Even in the dark he can see cracks running through the concrete that form it. First cracks in the facade of this whole manor.

"Another one inside of course, probably, bit wasteful but no one asked me. Tennis is next to, and I am pleased to announce that I have successfully removed most of the weeds, should you wish to challenge my tennis supremacy", Tim's eyes follow his finger. The tennis courts at Wayne manor were always inscrutable, but he can not recall ever using them, here he can see the fence encroached by the island brush. "Stable" Wintergreen's finger moves to point to a distant structure barely visible in the light. "Empty now though, shame, I'd fancy a bit of riding in the surf, but it's terribly impractical, being a secret and secluded island."

All the man man structures have been carefully cut out from the deep tropical brush that makes up the island flora. They are all built in a very English style that seems at odds with the wild around it.

"The whole island is probably about 20 acres. It's the largest out here, there's a few smaller ones within swimming distance, but most are scarcely bigger then a sandbar." Wintergreen is leading him down a sandy path towards the shore.

"We got a bit of a boat house there" Tim has to double his pace to keep up with Wintergreen's long strides. He sees barely more then a shed on the beach "Tides and beaches tend to be unpredictable, used to be on the water though I'm told. We redid the dock though" Tim sees the dock moored further out Barely more then a floating pallet. Did they land that far out when he arrived. They must have landed at low tide.

"that's about it for the man made structures, started a bit of garden on the west side, might get a few chickens if we hold out here, few miles from the grocer if you know what I mean"

"Slade cut a running trail runs up around the beach, crests the cliffs on the East side, bet you'll be getting to know that trail well enough while recuperating" Wintergreen doesn't really seem to be paying attention to Tim. Instead he sits down on the sandy beach and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. The lighter illuminates his face for a moment and then recedes to the dim glow of his cigarette. "Be glad to have you around, frankly,it was getting bit lonely waiting for the two of you to show up"

"how long had you been waiting here?" How long had Slade been planning for Tim? Were these plans laid when Tim was back in Spitzer? Was it before that at Shady Oaks? Or even the night Slade first found him at the Joker's. _ The Joker's. _Tim forces himself to hold those words in his mind. Like running his tongue over a cut in his mouth to feel the pain. _The Joker's_.

The old man doesn't reply at first. Just smokes his cigarette. The tip glowing redder with every puff. Tim can see the smoke in the illuminating moonlight. "Long enough" he finally replies. "probably best if you don't ask me questions about Slade. At least for now"

Tim understands. In his mind though he puts it together. The old man hadn't been here long enough to acclimate to the new time zone, that's why they are both awake at four A.M. Long enough though to clear the tennis court and clean the pool. "Is there anyone else here besides us?" it seems like a valid question.

"Nope, just me, you, and army of mindless robots" The old man talks slowly as if he is choosing his words.

"Army?" Tim smiles at him, arching one eyebrow doubtfully.

Wintergreen makes a sound between a cough and a laugh"Graciously speaking, handful by a layman's terms"

"Am I permitted to know when to to expect Slade's return?" Tim asks cautiously. He understands the relationship here, he knows Wintergreen is not permitted to say too much.

"Slade always returns when he task is done" Wintergreen says without any enthusiasm and possibly a hint of irk.

Sensing a need to change the subject, Tim looks about at the grounds. "What's your next task for the grounds?" Tim asks mildly.

"I needed to water the kitchen gardens before sunrise. Maybe weed a bit before it got hot. Work on what we shall eventually call the chicken coops when there are chickens about"

"well then we should get to that before it gets hot, shouldn't we?"

The old man smiles as he squelches the cigarette in the sand and stashes it in his pocket.

Tim can just tell they are going to get along.


End file.
